Maybe I should explain...

I just realized that I just rambled on rather vaguely as to why I don't want to go.

Ten years ago, I was just starting my senior year. Me and my friends were all coffee house poseurs. We'd all stay up late, drinking coffee at Denny's or Shoney's or Village Inn...whatever was open and willing to put up with our crap. We would read Kerouac and Ginsberg as if we actually knew what the hell they meant. We'd smoke clove cigarettes...or should I say, we shared a pack of clove cigarettes because we couldn't afford them on our own. We'd wear dark clothing, and listen to way too much Smashing Pumpkins

But by the start of senior year, things were starting to change for us. The whole non-conformist thing was getting a bit old. So, we trashed the black and started wearing colors. The clove cigarettes switched to much-cheaper generic lights, and we started to integrate into society.

So, a couple weeks after school started, it was Labor Day weekend. We were all becoming aware of how we were all changing, so this was gonna be our last big hoorah, or perhaps ho-hum, of our dark, misunderstood youth. Sunday night, we all met up at the lake. Our buddy Sam scored some pot off of his cousin, and we all got high (sorta, it was weak shit), and started talking about the future...again, like we knew what it meant.

In our weak buzz, we made this pact to meet up ten years later and read the lists of everything we wanted to accomplish in the next ten years. Whatever.

Later that year, we all had a huge falling out. Long story short, everyone except Sid told me to go to Hell on graduation day. Screw them.